Stuck At the End of the Rainbow
by Muriel Candytuft
Summary: What happens if you get the gold at the end of the rainbow? And just how hard is a leprechaun's job, anyway? Bernard is going to find out.
1. How Did I Get Here?

It's A Clever One What Can Keep The Gold

A/N: Hello, y'all! First let me state my reasons for writing this story. One: My heritage is largely Irish, and I'm quite proud of it. Two: I love Irish folktales. Three: I love the _Santa Clause_ movies (except the third, but let's not go into that). So, here's an idea I've been playing with since Thanksgiving.

Disclaimer: I do not own the _Santa Clause_ trilogy. Dang. Nor do I own any Irish folktales I refer to. Dang again. The plot, one character, and the concepts presented in this story are my intellectual property, and I am not making a profit from this story. Yet again, dang.

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Here I sit, shivering in some God-forsaken glade, wishing the pot of gold in front of me would explode if I glared at it enough.

How did I get here?

By my own stupidity, that's how. I just had to prove that I was clever and capable, didn't I? I should have learned my lesson that time in 1404. It's no use trying to match wits against the higher legendary figures.

Oh, by the way, my name is Bernard. Bernard Hywell Yulestar. Don't wear it out. I'm a Christmas elf. I work at the North Pole as Santa's Head Elf, manager of all departments.

At least I did, until now.

You want to know how I got here?

Absolutely not. I'm a very busy elf, and I don't have time to yammer about my small problems. I've got a pot of gold to guard. It sure as heck isn't guarding itself.

Aw, who am I kidding? Nobody's ever gonna come look for this stupid gold. Nobody looks at rainbows anymore. Even if they do, most don't think to look for the gold at the end. No wonder the old Leprechaun hated his job. Fine, fine. Sit down and listen.

It started about a week ago. All because I felt what no elf should ever feel: boredom.

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And there's our introduction, narrated by Bernard. Review, even if only to say that the full name I invented was dumb. Merry Christmas!


	2. Rusty Magic

Chapter 2--Rusty Magic

A/N: Thanks very much to the reviewers! Reviews completely make my day. Christmas is almost over, but I'm still going to be publishing Santa Clause fics until February at the latest, so y'all bear with me. Here's chapter two of "It's a Clever One", and sorry for the wait.

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Where was I? Oh, I got bored--something an elf should never do. Why not? Well, even though we're the keepers of Christmas, we elves tend to be walking disasters. Calamity is in our blood, whether we like it or not. Probably a trait inherited from our less-than-noble ancestors, the Brownies. Anyway, when we elves get bored--we get crazy.

So there I was, in my office, about to drop down sleeping from sheer boredom. It was a slow day at the workshop. We were ahead of our production schedule by two months. All week, there had been no complaints, no requests for more materials, no angry elves demanding vacation without quota. It was an ideal work day.

But I'm not used to ideal work days. I like to solve problems on the job, and when there's no problem for me to solve, there's nothing for me to do.

Heck, there wasn't even any paperwork waiting for me.

So, I sat at my desk, thinking about my old transportation skills. When Scott Calvin became Santa, I had only just learned how to use magic and transport myself from place to place. (And they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks.) But, as Scott became used to the red suit, and took less trips home--well, I just didn't really have any use for my transport magic anymore. So I stopped transporting. And now it had been about eleven years since I'd tried it last.

Could I still transport? I wondered suddenly. True, my magic skills were rusty, but they were still there.

Why didn't I just stay at my desk like a good elf?

Why did those Brownies have to be so dashed impulsive?

I stood up, clumsily trying to tune out the sights and sounds of my office and focus on a destination. What was my destination? I really didn't care. I only wanted to see if I could still transport. So I held my breath and focused on the first location that came to mind: _Ireland_. I'd visited there once; it was nice enough.

Two odd scents made me jerk my consciousness back into the present. Well, not odd, really, just unfamiliar. Something I hadn't smelled in a very, very long time.

Grass. And rain.

I looked around. Instead of the familiar, crystalline roof of Alfheim, a grey sky arched over me. Trees fringed my field of vision--not pines, though. Trees with _leaves_. It was uncomfortably warm out, and far away I thought I heard an ocean rumbling against a shore. And all around me was grass.

I wasn't in the North Pole anymore. I was in Ireland.

"Yes!" I hissed triumphantly.

Now, I should have just been satisfied with that. I should have left well enough alone and transported my sorry butt right back to Alfheim.

Of course, I didn't. Curiosity got the best of me.

I had to explore.

I wouldn't have if I'd known what was coming, that's for sure.

Drat those Brownies.

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Reviewers get cyber candy canes! And cyber spaghetti with maple syrup! Merry Christmas! Oh, and I do not own the blasted Brownies, either, they are borrowed from folklore. Serves them right.


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